


Ain't here to break it, just see how far it will bend

by bluebells



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Lucio is an Incubus AU, M/M, Nightclubs and negotiations, Talon is always recruiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:09:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22114648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebells/pseuds/bluebells
Summary: "Sure I can't get you anything?"Akande watches from his armchair across the room. "I’m certain." He inclines his head politely, noting this incubus doesn't even drink alcohol. Maybe that will prove useful later. Maybe not.Holding Akande's gaze, Lúcio tucks a short straw between his teeth, mouth lifting into a sly shade of that same smile for his fans on the stage.
Relationships: Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu/Lúcio Correia dos Santos
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Ain't here to break it, just see how far it will bend

**Author's Note:**

> I forget what prompted this way back when on the Doomcio discord but someone was inevitably thirsting after Incubus Lúcio (a normal day in the server). Many thanks to the various people who looked at various versions of this in its many states!
> 
> Title from "Make it Wit Chu" by Queens of the Stone Age.

Lúcio is not like the legends Akande has heard.

In fairness, he has never met an incubus in the flesh.

He catches his own reflection in the mirrored walls of the nightclub. His white suit is a glowing beacon beneath the ultraviolet lights, exaggerating the strength and breadth of his shoulders, and he can't help straightening, shoulders pushing back and rolling the crick from his neck. He towers above the crowd hundreds of patrons deep, their bodies an undulating mass of oblivious revelry beneath the green and gold strobes. Pressing to the hall's margins, he works his way forward and avoids the worst of the collective body heat so thick it hangs like a miasma of sweat, perfumes, and the sickly sweet drinks on discount at the bar.

It sticks to his palette, cloying and tacky. Scowling, he tries to breathe as little of it as possible.

The surviving murmurs of legend conjured incubi as predators skulking at the edge of shadows. Hunters in isolation with wicked smiles and dark eyes coaxing their victims to an exquisite death. Quiet and beguiling, insinuating themselves into your thoughts as surely as the air you breathed and, before you knew it, you would find them atop your chest or between your thighs, drinking down your life. The legends spoke of masters of camouflage and opportunity. Ruthless and indiscriminate.

Lúcio is none of those things.

"Let's break it _down_!"

The DJ sways under a spotlight, loose-limbed, wild and free. He shines with a fine sheen of sweat atop the stage as his adoring fans feed on the thrum of his music and he feeds on their euphoria.

When the beat drops, the bass strikes Akande hard between the lungs, and the club loses it. In the walls, the mirrors shudder, and the wood panelled floor trembles underfoot.

Atop the stage, Lúcio grins wide, face alight in the joy of the crowd, completely in his element.

Yes, there are apparently all kinds of incubi.

Akande is glad to learn that smile doesn't change when he finally gets Lúcio alone.

In the DJ’s private suite upstairs, Lúcio pours himself a drink from the bar. Fresh lime, ice and water. Lúcio stirs in a drop of sugar and throws a glance over his shoulder.

"Sure I can't get you anything?"

Akande watches from his armchair across the room. "I’m certain." He inclines his head politely, noting this incubus doesn't even drink alcohol. Maybe that will prove useful later. Maybe not.

Holding Akande's gaze, Lúcio tucks a short straw between his teeth, mouth lifting into a sly shade of that same smile for his fans on the stage. As his drink settles, ice clinking in the glass, he unzips his vest and shrugs it off to hang from his waist.

Akande’s mouth waters as Lúcio's wiry, muscled chest gleams with sweat in the low light from the open balcony. A warm summer breeze is blowing in from the Numbani evening. Lúcio grabs his drink and is slow to cross the room, taking his time to settle on the stool at Akande's feet.

Akande stares at the way Lúcio's throat rolls when he drains half the glass in one pull, tugs his dusky red bandana off his forehead, wiping the sweat from his brow before tossing it on the glass table beside Akande's phone.

A work phone, for appearances mostly, no numbers or details of interest to be lifted from there. It would look more suspicious if a man too well-tailored wandered with nothing on his person.

"So, here's the problem," Lúcio rolls his shoulders, leaning his elbows on his knees, settling in like Akande doesn't have a clock ticking down over his head with the healthy bounty that's dogged him across three continents. "Your organization. Yeah, I don't think we got that much in common. Why'd you think otherwise?"

Akande raises an eyebrow. So, Lúcio has done some research.

Akande thinks of O'Deorain, her mismatched eyes boring into Akande as she planted Lúcio's dossier on his desk, sliding it across.

("I want him. Alive.")

What incredible technology she would design with what she could learn from Lúcio.

"Your abilities are of special interest to us, Lúcio."

The incubus takes another sip from his glass, licking his lips with a shrug. "World's a big place. A lot of people more special than me.”

"How many like you?"

Lúcio smiles against the lip of his glass. "Naw, that'd be telling." He tips his glass to drain it clean. Akande watches, entranced, as Lúcio catches a few shards of ice on his tongue, rolling them back to crunch between powerful jaws.

Is it his imagination, or are those teeth slightly fanged?

Watching him, Akande can already feel the warmth stirring low in his gut. His folded hands knead the waist trim of his coat in irritation. 

Is this part of Lúcio's ability? Arousing latent interest of those in proximity? What is his effective range? Are there any caveats to his utility -- does he need to share the same air as his subject? Or would it be enough to hear the suggestion of his will? Make eye contact? 

Less than an arm's length away, Lúcio's mouth curls in a knowing smirk. He knows Akande wants to know him, learn the limits of his abilities. Maybe stretch them himself.

Lúcio's empty glass settles on the table with a soft clink.

"But, you know, I'm an amenable guy. Maybe I misjudged you."

"Talon could restore your favela. Safeguard your family. We want people like you to thrive, Lúcio. We have many friends in Rio."

"I know you do. You can't talk shit about things you don't understand - the favela is safe. And my family is just fine unless you have something else to say about it." The ice rolls on his tongue, dark eyes glittering. Some emotion passes behind his gaze, a void opening to a fathomless pit of steel, hunger, the kind of fire that burns cold in all of Akande's agents. It's only there for a moment, but it's the glimpse Akande needs to be sure.

Yes. Lúcio can belong with them.

"You need influence? You need the people to fall in line and adore you? Believe? Take up arms and fight for you? That's what I do." The ice crunches between Lúcio's teeth, harsh and loud. Akande watches his mouth, the soft part of his lips. With a tantalizing glimpse of pink, Lúcio's tongue glances his bottom lip, gathering the dredges of ice before the last of it melts.

Akande is so engrossed that he almost doesn't register Lúcio's slow rise to his feet. "I'll give you a chance, Ogundimu," he says, hands unbuckling his loose cargo pants with a clink of metal that dries Akande's mouth. Lúcio shivers with a contented grunt, rolling his shoulders to stretch, long and fluid.

Akande watches, fascinated, as a long, thick tail uncoils from the base of his spine. 

Lúcio cocks his head at his obvious curiousity, smile confident and lazy. "Convince me."

Akande frowns at his smugness, even as he shifts to adjust the discomfort of his rising interest. "On the nose, don't you think?"

Lúcio shrugs, tail curling in an idle flick at his back. "I was thinking up the ass, but we could do that, too."

And there is the hedonist Akande was looking for. Straightforward. Unapologetic about his wants, as he should be. It is no less than he deserves.

"Are all incubi like you?" Akande drinks in the sight of him, parched, knees already spreading for the incubus to take his place.

Lúcio's gaze entraps him, pins him to the chair, and Akande feels breathless beneath the weight of the promise in his eyes. "There's no one like me."

And Akande believes him.

**Author's Note:**

> All my editors may recognise this version has 90% less sex than the original. This is because that stuff takes hella long to edit, I'm on a mission to spring clean as quickly as possible, I ultimately found the way I wrote it was powerfully boring and over-plotted, so I cut it all off like a gangrenous limb. Hyah!
> 
> You're welcome to come and dispute my surgical techniques on [Tumblr](https://bellsybuilds.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/bellsybuilds).
> 
>  **Permissions:** You do not need to ask for permission to make translations, podfics, fanfic or fanart for any of my stories-- I do ask that you link back to my original work and let me know because I would LOVE to share what you've created.


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